This Fire is Out of Control
by shell games
Summary: Because when Derrick Harrington made a bet that he could sleep with Claire Lyons by the end of the school year, he hadn't thought about all the ways it could go wrong. Hiatus.
1. trailer

"this fire is out of control

i'm going to burn this city, burn this city

if this fire is out of control then i

i'm out of control"

* * *

A fire has three parts to it.

**Derrick Harrington** [heat]_ He has this pretty bad reputation – rumor has it he slept with girls in alphabetical order by first and last names, and now he's moving on to the Greek alphabet._

Can play the field in more ways than one. The soccer star has been around, to say the least. His messed blond hair, his _smoldering_ dark eyes, his care-free smile, his subtle words, they make him more approachable than (broody) Josh Hotz, less disgusting than (sleazy) Kemp Hurley, more interesting than (dim) Chris Plovert, and more impressive than (sweet) Cam Fisher.

**Claire Lyons** [air] _Untouchable. Claire is like walking proof that perfection does exist, with perfect grades and perfect clothes and a perfect family and a perfect record and a perfect life, in general._

Blonde hair never out of place, blue eyes always sparkling. Pale skin never blemished and pink lips that never talk to anyone besides (just as exclusive) Massie Block. Claire Lyons is the epitome of innocence; rainbows and flowers and cotton candy. There isn't a crack in her _perfect_ exterior, and everyone figures that her interior isn't slowly deteriorating into a billion pieces.

**The Bet **[fuel] - _Three hundred bucks, Claire Lyons, end of the school year._

And there is absolutely no way in hell this could go wrong.

_

* * *

_**author's note: **i do not own "clique" (lisi harrison) or "perfect chemistry" (simon elkeles.) please review. lyrics are from franz ferdinand. _  
_


	2. what's wrong with a little destruction?

**cl;**

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Claire Lyons.

That girl is me.

–

I look at myself in the mirror one more time. My skirt is pressed, my shirt is straight, my bangs are frizz-free, my shoes are spotless. I nod to myself and go downstairs, where Todd is in his chair and playing with oatmeal, my mother urging him to eat. She looks up when she hears me and smiles.

"Oh, you look beautiful, Claire," she says. I feel relieved at her approval, then she turns back to Todd. "Eat, Todd, Mommy's having guests come over soon."

My mom is an architect, and she likes having clients over to show off the house, which she had designed. It's nice, I suppose. A bit big, and I thought the spiralling grand staircase was a kinda gauzy, but I'm not the professional.

"Hi Todd," I greet, smiling broadly at my little brother. He gives me a lopsided smile, oatmeal dripping out of his mouth. I grab a paper towel and clean it up. "Today's my first day of senior year, Todd. Are you excited?"

Todd nods.

A car honks outside, and I realize Massie is actually early, for once. "Gotta go, Mom," I say, grabbing an apple and running out the front door.

"Be back by three!" She calls. "I have to leave for the office!"

"Yeah, Mom," I mutter, closing the door. A limo is waiting. I sigh inwardly. Of course Massie would go flashy for the first day at school. At least she didn't bring the Lamborghini – then she would've insisted on driving, and I didn't trust Massie behind the wheel. Even when she's sober she's kind of out of control.

The door pops open as I rush down the front steps. Massie's inside of course, with a cigarette dangling elegantly from her index and middle fingers.

"Fucking school," Massie yawns, closing her heavily made-up eyelids. "I am so hungover from Dylan's party yesterday. Did you go?"

I shake my head. "I wasn't invited."

"Neither was Alicia Rivera. She ended up dancing on the table in her underwear." Massie laughs, then puts the cigarette to her lips.

I shrug. "My parents wouldn't have let me gone anyway. I had to babysit Todd."

Massie raises an eyebrow. "Isn't he like, thirteen already?" I stare at her, trying to make her realize what she had just said. She looks down, her hair making a curtain around her face. "Sorry." She looks up again and tucks her hair behind her ear as the limo pulls to a stop. "Let's go to hell, Claire," she says, opening the door and stepping out.

* * *

_"some say you're a troubled boy _

_just because you like to destroy_

_all the things that bring the idiots joy_

_well what's wrong with a little destruction?"

* * *

_

**dh;**

"Yes," Kemp says, eyeing a leggy blonde. Then he sees a chubby girl with green streaks in her hair and heavy eyeliner walks by and makes a face. "No." The volleyball coach strides past us, and Kemp grins. "Yes."

I turn the volume up on my iPod, trying to drown him out. "I can't believe I'm being seen with you in public," I tell him, swinging the other earphone around my index finger, feeling bored. I lean back against the huge oak tree in the middle of the courtyard. I can feel the half-dead grass through my jeans. "Not all of us have slept with girls in alphabetical order by first name, I'm sorry to report," Kemp argues. Alicia Rivera walks by, the buttons of her Ralph Lauren polo shirt undone. "Yes. _Hell_ yes."

Alicia apparently hears, because she turns and gives Kemp a sly smile.

"Alphabetical by first _and_ last names," Josh corrects Kemp, squinting into the sun. He takes out a pair of sunglasses and puts them on. I don't get Josh's obsession with sunglasses. I think it's pretty queer. "And I think he's onto the Greek alphabet now." Then again, girls seem to fall for it, and Josh really only cares about girls.

"Not one part of that statement is true," I say. Josh shrugs and looks away, back at the girls walking past.

"Yes," Kemp says to Dylan Marvil, who throws him a disgusted look. Kristen Gregory saunters by, her blonde braid swinging. Kemp considers her for a moment. "No."

"Why not?" Josh asks. "I'd say yes."

"She'd be too high maintenance," Kemp says. "She'd want me to get all this shit for her. She'd ask me if she looks fat. I can't deal with that." He shakes his head to emphasize.

Claire Lyons and Massie Block glide by, arm in arm. "Yes," Josh says. "Very, very yes."

"Which one?" Kemp asks.

"Is it wrong to say both? Maybe at the same time?"

I sigh and put the other earbud into my ear, letting my friends talk about them. It's general knowledge that they were hot, yeah, but basically untouchable. Claire is like walking proof that perfection does exist, with perfect grades and perfect clothes and a perfect family and a perfect record and a perfect life, in general. Massie's the opposite; she smokes in the hallway, comes to school hungover, starts fires (allegedly), steals clothes and test answers. Her mom is some European socialite who's never home and her dad... Well, no one wants to know what her dad does.

They're best friends and they talk to absolutely no one.

"God, even Harrington couldn't get one of them," I hear Josh say wistfully.

I snort and take out my earphones. "I wouldn't say that," I murmur, looking at Massie's retreating figure.

"Do you want to bet money on it?" Josh challenges. Cam suddenly appears, holding a soccer ball in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

"What are we betting money on?" He asks, setting the ball on the ground and sitting next to it, snapping the phone shut.

"Harrington's package," Josh announces.

"Uh," Cam says uncertainly.

Josh studies me. "If you can sleep with Massie before the end of the school year, I'll pay you..." He trails off, thinking. "Two hundred dollars."

"Great," I say. "Now give me two hundred bucks."

Josh stares blankly for a few seconds, then his jaw drops at the same time Kemp and Cam start swearing profusely. "I think I know what you're trying to say but I'm not believing you," Josh babbles, looking like he was about to go into epileptic shock or something.

"Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuck," Cam chants under his breath, his eyes wide.

"I think he's bullshitting us," Kemp says. I wait for them to stop, looking for Massie. She's sitting on a bench a few feet away. "Okay. Okay. If you can prove that you slept with Block, I will raise Josh's two hundred to three hundred if you can sleep with Lyons."

I look over towards her. She's getting up and walking towards us. "Hey Massie," I greet when she's about a foot away from the tree.

She doesn't break her stride or even look at me, but she puts her hand up in a sort of half-assed wave and says, "Hey Derrick," her voice tired like it always is.

I look at my friends. Even if I had only said hi, Josh is looking stunned, Cam looks faint, and Kemp still looks skeptical, but he shrugs and says, "Wow. You're so not human."

Josh looks at the retreating figures of the two girls. "So three hundred bucks, Claire Lyons, end of the school year?" He offers.

"I'll put in fifty," Cam volunteers. "What? He might actually be able to do it."

"Whatever," I say, putting my earbuds back in.

"This is going to be interesting," Cam murmurs.

* * *

**author's note: **thank you for the reallyreallyreally amazing reviews for the trailer. was the first chapter okay? please tell me (: lyrics are from and franz ferdinand. can you tell i love franz ferdinand?

_finding-forever._: thank you so so much for your review, i really appreciated it. wow, i sound clichéd. okay, but seriously, thanks. um, if i could give you a twix bar, or maybe luke pasqualino, i totally would.

_emeraldeyes101_: thank you and i just don't like saying thank you over and over again. how about in german? danke. danke schoen.

_youkeepmehangingon_: um, merci for your review and yes i love claire and derrick. well, i haven't read the books in like two years but i remember liking them. so i figure that's the same thing. whatever. tak! (my friend says that's danish?)


	3. pretty and vain

**dh;**

The first class of the day is science. The teacher, Mr. Allen, is leaning against his desk in the front, looking chipper. Claire is two seats in front of me, sharing a table with Massie (of course.) Claire has her notebook and pen out, even if it's the first day of school and we're not learning anything. Cute.

"I have good news for you, new seniors. You will not have a science final this year!" He grins. A few students yawn. "Instead, you'll be compiling a project with a partner about something you've learned in all your years of science! Sound like fun, guys?"

"No," Kemp calls out.

Mr. Allen keeps grinning as he says, "And now you can't choose your partners. Good, because I stayed up until midnight picking partners for you." He holds up a sheet of paper. "400 points. Sixty percent of your final grade. Make it interesting, guys. Powerpoints, videos, models. But I want to see extensive research on it at the end of the year. And you have no excuse for a half-assed project. We'll be working on it in class three times a week, at the least."

He sticks the piece of paper with the partners onto the white board. "Make sure you know who your partner is!"

I slide out of my desk and go up to the paper. I spot my name and look at what the little dash connects it to. I smile to myself when I see it.

_ Derrick Harrington – Claire Lyons_

_

* * *

_

_"he might be one of those boys _

_that's all pretty and vain"_

* * *

**cl;**

Massie's gone up to look at the list and I'm doodling in my notebook. Suddenly, I smell something like Polo Black and when I look up, I realize Derrick Harrington is sitting next to me.

I stare at him blankly. I've never talked to him before in my life, and he has this pretty bad reputation – rumor has it that he sleeps with girls in alphabetical order by first and last names, and now he's moving on to the Greek alphabet.

"May I help you?" I ask, sounding colder than I had meant to. I'm probably one of like, three girls at this school who hasn't slept with him yet.

"I'm your partner," he says, looking at me like he means it in more ways than one. I feel a twinge of annoyance. Sure, he could model for Abercrombie and Fitch, but he didn't have to be all arrogant about it.

"Is there a specific reason why you're in my seat, Derrick?" A tired voice asks. It's Massie. She doesn't sound angry or upset. One eyebrow is raised at Derrick's seating.

Derrick smiles almost mockingly. "As I was just explaining to Claire," he says, leaning back in his chair. "I'm her partner for the project."

"So?"

Derrick shrugs. "So, I think it would be more effective if I sat next to Claire," he explains. "We could get more work done." And he gives me the look again, along with a small hint of a smile.

"Oh, and, class, sit with your partners!" Mr. Allen calls out. "You'll be doing a lot of work over the course of the year."

Derrick tilts his head. "See?"

Massie sighs. "Then do you know a..." She scrunches up her face trying to remember. "Kent Harley? Or something?"

Derrick points at the next table over. Massie glides off, and Derrick turns towards me. Before he can say anything, though, Mr. Allen is standing up and ringing a bell, trying to get our attention. "Are we in the third grade or something?" Someone calls out.

Mr. Allen cleverly ignores him and produces a hat. "You'll draw projects from this hat, then introduce your partner to the class. You've been attending the same school for at least four years now..." Joshua Hotz, a boy who had been kicked out of his old school and had subsequently come here to join the aggregation of stupid pretty boys/dumb jocks, made a loud coughing noise. "Well, most of you have, so you should now sufficient information about each other."

"Uh, if we know sufficient info about each other, why do we have to introduce our partners?" The same person as before calls out. I look over to see Massie putting her head in her hands as her partner raises her hand, chewing gum loudly.

"It's just a fun first day activity, Kemp," Allen says calmly. "Would you rather have a pop quiz? That can be arranged too."

"It's cool, Mr. Allen."

Allen takes the list of partners down and slowly reads off the names. I can't believe the people that have been paired together – Alicia and Olivia, for instance. They are the best of friends, and Allen knows that.

"Derrick and Claire," he calls, holding out the hat. Immediately, I go up and get it, but Derrick lags behind. I look at the slip of paper in my hand. _Pyrology._ When Derrick gets to the front, I show him the paper and Allen says, "Now introduce yourselves."

I open my mouth to speak. "Um, this is Derrington." Then I blush when I realize what I had just said – I had started to say his first name but I was meaning to say his last name. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and restarted. "This is Derrick. Harrington. He um, plays soccer."

"No shit, sweetheart," Kemp says.

"_You_ won't be playing soccer if you keep speaking up in class, Kemp," Allen warns.

Kemp scoffs. "You can't kick me off the soccer team."

"No, but I can fail you in science, thus banning you from any sports," Allen threatens cheerfully. "Continue, Claire."

I don't have anything else to say. Well, I do, but I can't exactly tell the class that Derrick sleeps with girls who have names beginning with various letters of the Greek alphabet. Thankfully, Derrick starts talking. "This is Claire," he says. "She's wondering why you've paired Alicia and Olivia together, but not her and Massie, Mr. Allen. However, I'd just like to thank you, because I might actually pass science this year." He gives the class a bright grin, and most of the girls in the class give back equally stupid grins.

I decide I don't like Derrick Harrington.

"Well, Derrick, I hope you have fun working with Claire this year," Mr. Allen says, almost sarcastically.

Derrick's grin turns into a smirk. "Oh, I will."

* * *

**author's note: **kind of boring, sorry. next chapter has more um, clairington in it, i swear. review si'l vous plait. lyrics are from arctic monkeys.


	4. stupidest things

**cl;**

Mid-way through the day, I get a text from my mom. **I need to go to the office earlier than I expected. Come home now and look after Todd. I'll e-mail your teachers.** And I sigh. Our last caretaker for Todd had just quit, and neither Mom or Dad has found the time to look for a new one.

I stand up from the bench Massie and I occupy during lunch, then wince. Massie had given me a ride here today. Her driver had dropped us off. I didn't have any way to get home. I groaned. I hated when my mother put me in situations like this. She pulls me out of my classes, but doesn't think about the consequences.

"Massie," I say.

She's lying down on the bench, her feet flat against the wood and her knees in the air. Her sunglasses are on, and she's smoking another cigarette. I wonder if teachers genuinely don't see her break the rules, or they just focus on the big library/computer lab/technology center in the middle of the campus nicknamed "The Block" for more reasons than one. (Her dad had made the generous donation to build it around the same time she had [allegedly] started a fire at the school.)

"Yeah?" She asks.

"Would Isaac be comfortable giving me a ride home?"

"Depends on what time it is."

I glance at my phone. "Twelve forty."

Massie puts the cigarette to her mouth and blows out a stream of smoke. "I think he's picking up my mom – sorry, _mum –_ from the airport. He'd be at the JFK right now." She slides her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose. "Sorry, C. Why?"

"My mother has to go to the office, and we haven't found a new caretaker for Todd yet," I explain, sighing. My phone vibrates with another text. **Now, Claire.**

I look around. I didn't talk to a lot of people at this school – I'd tried that when I first came here from Florida, and then we'd get onto the topic of my brother, or coming over to my house, and it just got awkward.

Derrick Harrington and his soccer groupies walk by.

Before I can stop her, Massie has called out, "Hey, Derrick." She sits up, hugging her knees. "Claire needs a ride home. She has a stomach ache. I mean, I told her not to eat the school food, but..." Massie trails off, looking at me. I give her a look. She shrugs. "And I figured, since you guys are science partners, you'll be seeing a lot of each other anyway." She ends her sentence with a smile that makes every guy in the group sweat and every girl in the group jealous.

I think I might kill Massie. Girls don't get rides home from Derrick without shit happening. I want to keep my virginity, thanks. And my dignity. And a whole slew of other things I would lose if I were seen in a car with Derrick Harrington. "It's fine, I'll get one from uh, Kristen Gregory."

"No, it's okay," Derrick says. "I don't mind."

_Yeah. I'm sure you don't._

"I really can't-" Massie smacks me very non subtly. "Sure."

Massie gives me a lofty wave. "I'll text. Say hi to Todd for me."

I put my bag over my shoulder and follow Derrick out of the front gates. Suddenly, I see something very morally wrong with the whole situation (besides the fact that I'm getting in a car with Derrick Harrington.) "Um, aren't you technically ditching school right now?" I ask.

"It's lunch, nobody will notice," he replies.

"But you're still breaking the rules," I point out.

We reach his car and he opens the door for me. "Sometimes people break rules, Claire."

"But this is a big rule. You could get, like, suspended, or even expelled," I begin to ramble as I get into the car. "Do you know what that's going to do? It's going to go onto your permanent record, for like, ever, and you won't be able to get into college, and your whole life will be affected because you won't get a good career and you'll end up asking people, _You want fries with that?_ And-"

I stop talking when I see a box of condoms on the floor of the car. And it's just like, staring at me. I look out the window and try not to think about the shit that happens in the passenger's seat of Derrick Harrington's car.

He doesn't seem to notice, because he asks, "Where do you live?"

"Turn left here," I mutter. "Then left again. Then straight."

There's two seconds of awkward silence before Derrick says: "So what do you want to do for our project?"

_Nothing. I want nothing to do with our project. Our project can go screw itself in its ass. Our project is now officially the bane of my existence and it's only been in my existence for four hours. Why do I have to be paired with such a promiscuous, self-righteous, egotistical-_

"We could do a short demonstration and a Powerpoint," I suggest. "Or a long demonstration and no Powerpoint." I blink and look down, see the condoms, and look up again.

"Pyrology? That's like, the study of heat, right," Derrick asks. "And fire and shit like that." I nod. "So, what, we start a fire in the classroom?"

I stared at him for three seconds, in small shock, like how the hell did he know? Then I recover. "Um, like a very small controlled one."

There's another three seconds of awkward silence and he just comes out and says it. He really doesn't seem to care what other people think (although, when everybody loves you, I guess you wouldn't.) "Do you hate me or something?"

"That is a very direct question," I stall. "Um, and I suppose the answer is no, because I think if Derrick Harrington found out somebody didn't worship the ground he walked on he would disintegrate. Like a fairy."

He gives me a sidelong glance and pulls his Bimmer to a stop outside of my house. "Good, because if we're going to do this love-hate thing, we should do it right," he says, cutting the engine. I get out of the car.

"Right, okay, thanks for the ride," I say. Then, just as he pulls away, I realize what he's just told me and yell after him, "Wait, _who said anything about love?"

* * *

_

_"sometimes i think the stupidest things_

_because i never wonder _

_how the girl feels"__

* * *

_

**dh;**

I'm not like a fairy. No matter what Claire fucking Lyons says.

* * *

**author's note: **the actual nickname for a BMW is "bimmer", "beemer" is for the motorcycle made by BMW, not the actual car. i found that out like, a week ago and wanted to use it somewhere [: please review.

(lyrics, again, franz ferdinand. i'm trying to use different artists but franz ferdinand takes up most of my ipod, haha)


	5. i mean i need

**A/N: **so, can i dedicate this to Lighting . Up . Thee . Sky . for sending me a really nice message about my story? is that, i dunno, weird? because i thought it was really like, cool of her [i'm assuming you're a her, because you're reading clique fanfiction, and you sound like a girl, and your icon is a girl, but if you aren't then it's totally my mistaken and i apologize profusely] and it made me feel a lot better about my writing skills. [that's right, 3rd grade teacher who gave me an 85 on my historical fiction essay]

okay so i'm adding this really quickly: i'm also dedicating this chapter to emeraldeyes101, again, for sending me a really nice message. you (guys) are really, really, awesome, and i'm really really happy that you (guys) are enjoying the story. i don't really know if that was to sydney or the readers of this story in general. but, thanks._  
_

* * *

_"now i know i'm not a saint_

_i've been a sinner all my life_

_i ain't trying to hide my flaws_

_i'd rather keep them in the light"_

* * *

**dh;**

_kemp hurley:_ any progress, o great one?  
_derrick harrington:_ you're a loser

_josh hotz:_ lyons is smitten  
_derrick harrington:_ thanks.  
_derrick harrington:_ oh, and alicia "hearts" your sunglasses  
_josh hotz:_ told you not to knock the sunglasses

_cam fisher:_ u sly dog, giving claire a ride home. &told u 2 buy me those nikes. good karma is what made u 2 science partners. good freaking karma  
_derrick harrington: _you're a heterochromic shoe freak  
_cam fisher:_ that wud hurt if i knew what u just said

_chris plovert:_ mass message – party on friday. booze is a given and it starts at 9

**cl;****  
**

"Um, Massie," I say as I step out of the car and flatten my skirt, and putting a jacket on to shield myself from the already-freaking-cold air of New York in fall. "This doesn't look like a movie theater. In fact, it kind of looks like a house."

"That's because it is one, Kuh-laire," Massie giggles, holding (yeah, predictably) another cigarette. "It's a house party."

"Which is why, of course, you told me it was a movie," I mutter. "I really like the trust we've built in the past eight years, Mass."

"Spare me your fucking halo today Claire, you're having fun tonight," Massie orders, dragging me into the house. People were staring at us. I sighed and went along with her. She enters the house, yelling at me over the music, "You have no tests, no quizzes, no projects except the one due at the end of the year, you are going to have fun. For at least an hour."

She hands me a plastic cup full of lemonade, then disappears into the crowd with a devillish wave.

**dh;**

I spot a head of light blonde hair and I blink to make sure I'm seeing correctly, because Claire Lyons did not hang out at Friday-night house parties. The figure is too tall to be Olivia, her hair too long to be Kori Gedman, with softer features than Kristen Gregory.

Yeah. It's Claire.

I focus back on the two girls who are currently talking about me or fighting over me or something similar. "Derrick, I'm going to go that way," the shorter one says, narrowing her eyes at the other girl.

The other girl, who has short black hair, rolls her eyes. "Well, Derrick, I'm going to go that way," she says, pointing in the opposite direction.

I look down on both of them. "I'm going to go talk to Claire. Have fun, um, Helen, Tina," I mutter, walking forwards and leaving the two girls behind. I can hear them call out:

"It's actually Heather."

"And Meena."

"Whatever," I murmur under my breath. I reach Claire, who's rapidly finishing a plastic cup of what looks like tequila but I really hope not because if Claire kills her liver, I wouldn't be able to sleep with her, thus owing Josh two hundred dollars, Kemp one hundred dollars, and Cam fifty. Which, of course, I could easily get, but they wouldn't shut up about it for at least half a year.

Therefore, my current mission was to make sure Claire didn't destroy her liver.

"Claire," I greeted, nodding my head.

"Derrick," she mumbles, her lips still attached to the cup.

"How's your week been, Claire?"

She rolls her eyes. "Peachy, Derrick." She crumples the plastic cup in her hands. "That was the most fucked up lemonade I've ever had in my life," she mutters.

"Yeah, that wasn't lemonade," I reply, smiling. "You know, I never gave you my number."

"Pity." She looks off to the side, rubbing her forehead.

Wow. Claire's a bitch. "Do you want it?"

"Do I need it?"

"Yes."

"Can it cure cancer?"

"No."

"Then I don't need it." She turns on her heel and walks away.

I jog after her. "Wait, you have cancer?" I ask incredulously, because, whoa, that was surprising.

"No. What gave you that idea?" Claire grumbles, looking around. "Have you seen Massie?" Her eyes seem unfocused. I realize something. I've seen tons of girls drunk - hello, Westchester, kids don't have anything better to do - and they stumble around, they speak nonsense, they even strip occasionally, but Claire Lyons is the only one who gets even _more_ uptight than she already is.

"She's probably upstairs."

"What time is it?"

"Ten."

Claire sets the cup down on a table and steps by me, making for the stairs. "Well, at least you're good for something," I hear her mutter.

* * *

_"oh, you know i know you know that_

_i love you i mean i need to love..."_

* * *

**cl;**

"You're following me," I say, not turning around. I can hear the footsteps well enough. "Please don't." Because my head is spinning and things are swaying and I don't want to talk because when I move my jaw, the back of my head hurts.

"Why not?" Derrick's voice floats by my ear. Oh, that's a flowery description.

"Because all the girls in the foyer who are currently staring at us would much rather be graced by your presence," I reply, making it to the top stair. I look down the hallway. There are at least six bedrooms that I can see in the half-lit hallway. I open the first door. And close it immediately. I turn to Derrick, who hadn't listened to me. "Tell Chris that there's a threesome in his parent's bedroom."

"That's actually _his_ bedroom," Derrick corrects me.

I check the second door. It's empty.

Third door. I see Massie's thin figure and something glowing, as well as her silver jewellery reflecting light from the hallway. "Hey, C," she greets happily. I flick on the light. To my surprise, I see Cam Fisher on the bed with her. However, they're sitting on opposite ends, both fully clothed. Thank you, Jesus.

Massie hands something to Cam. A small smoke trail is left behind.

At first, I assume it was a cigarette, and I brush it off. Then it occurrs to me that people don't usually share cigarettes. They do, however, share rolled cannabis.

As in, pot.

"Massie, let's go," I say, trying not to stumble over words. Maybe this is why Massie always talks really slowly.

"Claire, remember when we were five, and we decided to go as an angel and a devil for Halloween? You were the angel, I was the devil," Massie says, her voice sounding weirdly more upbeat than usual. "Things haven't changed much." She slips off the bed and walks up to us. "Are you not having fun, C?"

"He's been harassing me for the past ten minutes," I say, nodding towards Derrick.

"Actually, it's been more like thirty, but time flies when you're having fun, Claire," Derrick says. I hate how easily my name slides out of his mouth.

"I think we should go anyway," Massie yawns. "Mummy dearest probably wants to see me. Or she's pretending she wants to see me."

"Drive safely," Derrick mutters sarcastically.

**dh;**

I look at Cam. "Since when did you support the recreational use of pot?" I ask, looking at the joint in his hand.

He puts in a glass of water and starts coughing like fuck. "Since never," he heaves. "Well, I guess, since tonight." He coughs for a few minutes while I laugh at him.

Claire bursts back into the room. "Library, Sunday, ten, bring your science textbook," she says, before closing the door again.

* * *

**A/N:** [because it's way shorter than writing "author's note", yeah?] lyrics from cage the elephant, and franz ferdinand. sorry, but **no you girls** is just such a freaking good party song. i mean, like, sorority row? they played it during the house party scene. but the whole thing was like a giant house party scene so i guess that's a bad example. please review.

_emeraldeyes101 &flower123, thanks for the reviews [:_


	6. tell us a story

**A/N:** todd has cerebral palsy. sorry, i kept implying it but i kept forgetting what it was called until my mom said something about starving kids in africa and kids with cerebral palsy when i told her i'm a vegetarian. [which i have been for the past three months so i don't know why she was surprised]

* * *

**cl;**

I slept through most of Saturday.

–

On Sunday, I wake up to the doorbell ringing. Groggily, I wake up. I splash some cold water on my face, tie my bed hair into a ponytail, and begin to brush my teeth. "Claire! Answer the door, will you? I'm busy working!" My father yells.

I sigh, spit out the toothpaste, wipe my mouth, and jog downstairs, where my mother is yapping into her Blackberry and my father is hunched over his laptop. On a fucking Sunday. I take a peek into the living room. Todd is eating scrambled eggs and yoghurt, although most of the yogurt was all over him and not on the plate or in his stomach. I smile.

I open the door. "Hey, Claire," Derrick greets. He was holding a science textbook in one hand and keys in another, and his eyebrows are raised at me. "You look... different."

"Hate to break it to you but this is what girls look like without make up," I snap, before feeling bad because I have totally forgotten about the library. "What time is it?" I ask weakly, putting a hand to my forehead. "How long did you wait? I'm so, so, so sorry," I begin to apologize, but he holds up a hand.

"It's only ten," he says. "Well, it's ten fifteen, but you get the idea."

My sympathy turns into anger. "Then what are you doing at my house?" I ask, my voice raising.

"The library is closed," Derrick announces. "So I thought we could do the project at your house."

"That's _so _not a good idea," I blurt. "You should've called, or-"

"I would've, but on Friday you told me that if my phone number didn't cure cancer, you didn't want it, remember?" Derrick reminds me, smirking. I look behind me, then smack his arm.

I hear clacking heels as my mother walks up behind me. "Why, hello," she says, all smiles and fairies and other happy shit. "Who're you? A friend of Claire's?" I look at her, trying to see how she's behaving. My mom has subtle ways to tell if she likes or doesn't like someone, and over the course of seventeen years, I've perfected the art of recognizing them.

"Derrick Harrington," Derrick says, holding out a hand and standing considerably straight, using a smile that belongs in a toothpaste ad.

"Oh, Melinda's son?" My mother says, sounding ecstatic. Great, she likes Derrick. Just fucking great.

"Do you want to come inside?" I ask Derrick through gritted teeth. "Thirsty, anything?"

"Well, I have to go to the office, Claire. Be a good hostess," Mom says cheerfully, walking through the front door.

"Yeah," I deadpan. I close the door harder than I normally would, and lock it with vigor.

Derrick looks at me and lets out a long whistle. "So that was your mother," he murmurs. "No wonder."

I look at him out of the corner of my eye. "No wonder what?"

"You're so... you."

I don't know what he means and I don't care. I get a glass of water in the kitchen. "Wait here," I tell Derrick. "I'm going to get dressed. Don't touch anything. Don't go anywhere. Don't do anything."

My dad's disappeared into his first study, thank god. I run upstairs, find a white Ralph Lauren Polo shirt, Sevens jeans, and Michael Kors flats, then run back downstairs, hoping I'd make it before any collateral damage had occurred between my house and Derrick Harrington.

I look in the kitchen. He isn't there.

I sigh, then walk into the dining room. He isn't there. I walk back out, go into the living room. He's there, kneeling at Todd's level, smiling at him. My chest tightens.

"So, uh, do you like planes or trains better?" Derrick is asking my brother. I hide in the kitchen silently, watching the exchange. "Because, you know, I always thought it was more fun to imagine that food was a train. You know, the train goes into the tunnel, choo choo."

Todd stares at him.

Derrick nods. "Yeah, planes work too. The plane is going into the err, plane tunnel, zoom." Todd laughs and puts a big spoonful of yoghurt into his mouth. "Right. Zoom." He gives Todd a thumbs up. Todd tries to mimick him, but he can't hold only one finger up. "We'll work on it."

**dh;**

Once Claire disappears upstairs, I get bored in like, two seconds, so I go to look at the rest of the house. The dining room is perfectly set for four people, even if I once heard Claire tell Massie her parents are never home for dinner anymore.

Then, I hear something splat, and I walk back through the kitchen and turn, finding myself in the living room. A really skinny boy with a head of red hair is sitting in a wheelchair, a bowl of yoghurt in his lap, and a puddle of yoghurt on the floor.

I slowly walk towards him.

_Claire has a brother?_

I look at the wheelchair and the way the brother – who looks like he should be in middle school, really – plays with his food, and something hits me. _Oh._

The boy finally looks up at me, gives me a lopsided grin, and presses something on his wheelchair. "Hello, I am Todd," a computerized voice says.

"Hey, Todd, what's up?" I ask. More yoghurt plops on the floor, along with some egg. "Yeah, apparently not the yoghurt, eh?" I look at the yoghurt on the ground. Like, should I clean it up or something? The floor was a nice hardwood, but some of the purple yoghurt had gotten onto the plain white rug. "Okay, dude, so you don't like yoghurt? Yeah, me neither. It's like, a warm, healthy ice-cream, which is the worst invention I've ever heard of. Whoever buys it is mental." There's a pause. "I mean, besides whoever bought _that_ yoghurt. I'm not really in a position to say."

Todd looks up at me. I kneel down to his level.

"So, uh, do you like plane or trains better?" I ask him. "Because, you know, I always thought it was more fun to imagine that food was a train. You know, the train goes into the tunnel, um, choo choo."

Todd stares at me.

I nod. "Yeah, planes work too. The plane is going into the err- a plane tunnel, zoom." Todd laughs and puts a big spoonful of yoghurt into his mouth. "Right. Zoom." I give Todd a thumbs up. Todd tries to copy, but he can't hold only one finger up. I pat his hand. "We'll work on it."

"Uh, Derrick," Claire's voice says. I look up to see her head poking out of the kitchen door. Her blonde hair is hanging past her shoulders, and she's wearing shoes Olivia had exclaimed about at our lunch table. "We should start our project." Her eyes look bigger than normal.

I stand up too quickly, and a bunch of blood leaves my head. I feel dizzy. "Right. Okay. Yeah." I shake my head and point to the purple stains on the rug. "Um, there's yoghurt on the floor."

She rolls her eyes. "I can see that, Derrick. Our housekeeper will clean it up." Her eyes rest on Todd, and her expression softens.

Before she can like, insult me or something, I quickly question, "Is that why you were so mad when I showed up here?"

She walks into the kitchen and I follow her. "Well, it could've been the fact that you showed up totally unexpected, and also that I find you to be really, really irritating to be around," she mutters, although her usual punch isn't in her voice. I stare, waiting for her to continue. She gets a cup of yoghurt out. I look at it, and press my lips together, trying not to smile. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I have more to say."

* * *

_"tell us a story_

_i know you're not boring"  
_

_

* * *

_

I raise an eyebrow. "Don't you?"

She spins around. "I don't." Her eyes literally get a shade darker. I hold her gaze. This is great – I'm getting to know Claire Lyons, the girl behind the perfection. "I'm not ashamed of Todd."

"Then why don't you ever invite anyone over? Why don't you even talk to anyone besides Massie?"

Claire clenches her arm and takes a deep breath. "Because people expect me to be. Or they would, if they knew."

"And you always want to please everybody," I understand, nodding slowly. "Okay."

"It's not as simple as that," she snaps. "It's not even in the same zip code as simple as that." She releases her arm. "I mean, even my own fucking parents – _Todd's _own fucking parents – they try to hide him! He can technically go to middle school, did you know? They have the right programs, but it's all about what people will say when they find out, Oh, the Lyons have a disabled kid, how _fucking_ scandalous - and slowly Todd's being pushed farther and farther into the background and pretty soon he'll stop showing up in family portraits and he'll be forgotten in Christmas cards and -" suddenly, she stops talking, looking at the cup in her hand. "I hate blueberry."

She turns around and tosses the unopened yoghurt in the trash, then pushes past me. "We can use my dad's upstairs study," she mumbles, going up the stairs.

* * *

_"come on listen to what i say_

_i've got some secrets that'll make you stay"_

* * *

**A/N:** um, yeah. so, review please? i dunno. maybe this chapter was way out of my "deep, dramatic" writing range. sorry if i keep like, filling up your inbox with updates. i'm trying to finish this summer ends - which is a long way away i know - but if i suddenly stop writing, i'll never get back into it [i just work that way.]

_BETHERE4U, Lilly, amber311,_ and _thats the way4_: thank you for your reviews.

and lyrics are from the strokes.


	7. expressions on their stupid faces

_i had fun writing the soccer player's parts._

* * *

**cl;**

I didn't understand why Massie had picked me up that Tuesday morning wearing school colors (complete with dark blue and silver eyeshadow) until she walks out of History, the last class of the day, with me, and instead of turning for the front gates like we usually do, keeps going straight towards the soccer field.

"Mass? Where are we going?" I ask her, even if I have a pretty good idea where. "Really, Mass? Since when were you into school sports?"

"C, I've always loved this school," Massie coos loudly as the soccer team runs by, wearing their blue uniforms. I try my hardest not to look for Derrick, but it's too late, his big brown eyes have already found me. I look directly at Massie, ignoring Derrick. "And I love our soccer team."

I raise an eyebrow, smiling. "And what's our team name?"

"Like, the Pirates right?" She asks. "Okay. Fine. I might not have always loved this school or it's soccer team, especially since I _used_ to think organized sports were a waste of time and money, but I've been enlightened by um, the Organized Sports Buddha, and -"

"Okay, Mass. Spill. Which soccer player is it?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Kuh-laire," Massie says, widening her amber eyes and looping her arm through mine as we walk towards the soccer field. "I'm here for the rush of adrenaline that you get when your team scores a point. Well, the alleged rush of adrenaline, the Organized Sports Buddha wasn't all that convincing."

"Is it Kemp? Because trust me, you don't need to show up at his soccer games to get him," I tell her.

"Who's Kemp?" Massie asks, scrunching up her nose.

"It's Josh, isn't it? He's cute. He has like a sunglasses fetish, though," I say. "But he has a leather jacket, which makes up for it, and he looks like Josh Hartnett did in _Pearl Harbor,_ and personally, Josh Hartnett is way better than Ben Affleck, even though I'd say I like Ben Affleck more than Matt Damon."

"I never realized you talked so much, C," Massie yawns. "But more importantly, where are your school colors?" Massie asks as we sit down in the bleachers, which are cold from the October weather. I roll my eyes and lean forward, examining the game.

"So, what position does your mysterious soccer player play?" I ask Massie, squinting at the field.

"Um, he kicks the ball into the goal."

"What position is that?"

"I dunno. Isn't it like, every position besides the... goal protector?" Massie asks. She frowns. "This sport shit is hard." She digs around her bag and pulls out a bottle of water. After watching Massie taking a long sip from it, I realize it isn't water. And I sigh.**  


* * *

**

_"people line up to receive_

_she got the current in her hand_

_just shock you like you won't believe"

* * *

_

**the tomahawks;**

_-jh_

Holy shit, are Claire Lyons and Massie Block sitting in the bleachers?

_-kh_

So I'm looking at the crowd, you know, of my admirers, and I see this big gap in the middle of the bleachers, and I'm like, what the hell? And then I see who's sitting in the middle of the gap: Claire fucking Lyons and Massie fucking Block. At a fucking soccer game. That's fucking _sick_.

_-dh_

Even now that I know why Claire didn't talk to anyone at school now, I'm still amused out of my mind when I see that she's come to watch the game, and there's this huge space around her and Massie like a forcefield or some shit. It's not even a forcefield that maybe a couple of losers would get. It's like a forcefield of... admiration. Which _sounds_ gay, but you have to see it to get it.

Why is Claire here, anyway?

_-cp_

Fuck, it's Claire Lyons. Holy fuck, it's Massie Block.

But you know what's even more impressive? That guy in the front row has salt and vinegar chips.

_-cf_

I blink, shake my head, blink again, then squint. "Dude, just because your eyes are different colors, does not mean you're not blind," Kemp says to me.

"Yeah, but is that -" I point to the bleachers.

"Claire Lyons and Massie Block? Yep. I thought I was hallucinating too. Then I realized, why wouldn't they be here? I'm a babe," Kemp laughs, jogging away, popping an imaginary collar.

I look back at Massie. I thought she was being sarcastic when she said she would watch a game at Plovert's party, maybe lying, acting on impulses.. I mean, she _had _been smoking weed. She was pretty high.

Massie catches me looking and gives me a small wave, mouthing 'good luck'. And I turn to make sure that a European prince or a Hollywood movie star isn't behind me.

"Dude, game's starting," Josh calls, wacking me on the back of my head as he runs past me.

"Yeah," I mumble.

* * *

_"one look sends it coursing through the veins, oh how the feeling races_

_back up to their brains to form expressions on their stupid faces_

_they don't want to say hello, like i want to say hello_

_my heartbeat's at its peak, when you're coming up to speak"

* * *

_

**cl;**

I gasp and start poking Massie repeatedly. "What?" She asks, sounding annoyed.

"It's _Cam?_" I exclaim, probably louder than I meant to, because people started staring at us. "It's Cam?" I whisper, but I guess it was still pretty loud because they kept staring. Massie nods, a hint of a smile on her face.

I smile too, actually happy for her, because in the eight years that I had known her, her boyfriends hadn't been that great. Most were from the city, some were older, most were just bad. But Cam? Cam is here. Cam is nice. Cam has two different colored eyes, which is really actually cool.

I can't help it, I give Massie a hug. "Okay, wow, um, next time I'll make sure go after someone you disprove, because I really can't breathe right now," she says. I let go.

We watch the game, until they take their first break. Then, Massie stands, and I stand with her. We walk down the bleachers, to where the future WAGs of America – Alicia Rivera, Oliva Ryan, Heather and Meena (no one bothers getting their last names) are sitting, cheering them on. When Massie arrives, they shut up, quietly taking out their phones and texting (presumably) each other.

Cam is at the plastic fold-up table, draining a bottle of Gatorade. He looks Massie and starts choking. I look down and smile at the effect Massie has on him. Not even just him, Kemp and Josh were suddenly moving towards the plastic table, and even a couple players from the other team were looking.

"Massie," Cam says, trying to act cool after choking.

"Hey, Cam," Massie greets. "Um, so, I told you I would watch a game. And here I am. Watching a game." She nods. "So, are we winning or losing?" Massie asks slowly.

Cam laughs quietly while Alicia pipes up, "We're winning, one to zero."

Massie frowns. "But that's only a point."

Cam raises an eyebrow. "You don't watch a lot of soccer, do you?"

I let them talk. "Claire," a familiar deep voice says. It's not really a greeting, just kind of a statement.

I turn. "Derrick," I m_u_rmur.

He looks at me up and down. "How are you?"

I know what he means. I still decide to go with the obvious, "Fine," because A, Alicia the gossip queen is right behind me with a cell phone, and B, Derrick is never ever going to play therapist again. I'm pretty sure I was like, PMS-ing or something that day, so half of it was just hormones.

"I think we should meet again for the project," he offers. "Maybe actually get something done this time."

I nod and look at Massie, who looks nowhere near done with her conversation. I face Derrick again. "Um, so, Saturday at nine? The library? I checked, it's open on Saturdays."

He nods, and a whistle blows. "It's a date." And before I can tell him it's not a date of any kind, he's gone.

* * *

**A/N:** this chapter sucked. sorry ]: lyrics are from a band commonly known as MGMT - and the lead singer of this band commonly known as MGMT is _smokin', _with the coolest name ever: andrew **vanwyngarden**. isn't that fucking epic? it's like julian **casablancas**. i can imagine me being 'ana vanwyngarden/casablancas' one day. :D i'm sorry. i feel giddy. [the second set of lyrics are from the arctic monkeys]

ugh. this was such a lame chapter, guys. i'm sorry. ]:

&thank you for your review, _luvclique194_ and_ amber311_.


	8. darling

**A/N: **this was kind of really painful to write. i don't know why. i think claire complains too much and derrick doesn't have enough of a personality. /facepalm

* * *

**dh;**

"I think we should go," Claire announces, snapping shut my science textbook and sliding it across the desk to me.

"Why?"

"Because you've done nothing in the past four hours besides stare at the clock and that girl's chest," Claire says, flicking a glance at the girl a few tables away. Which is partially true.

"I only have eyes for you, Claire Lyons," I reply, winking at her.

She characteristically rolls her eyes and stands, putting her bag over her shoulder. "If I fail science this year because of you, I will kill you," she says, giving me an angelic smile.

We walk outside. "Don't you have a license?" I ask her. Because, you know, for someone who allegedly hated me so much, she seems to need a lot of rides from me (innuendos aside.) Well, she's had two, but still. Isn't that a lot?

"Yeah," Claire answers. "I do."

"Then why don't you ever use it?"

"When they took my photo, I had a huge zit, in like, the middle of the my forehead," she says. "Plus, this is greener for the environment."

I nod. "Sure." She gets in the car. When we pull up in front of her house, she freezes. I look out the car window. There's a white Porsche sitting in the driveway. "Are you okay?"

She looks back at me. "Let's get lunch. I'm hungry. Aren't you hungry? I'm hungry."

"Are you joking?" I ask her, looking at her incredulously.

"Do I look like I'm joking? I'm totally starving," she claims. "I feel like I haven't eaten in three weeks. Hey, there's that new diner that's in the completely opposite direction. Let's go there."

Claire Lyons is weird.

**cl;**

I try to get the image of the car out of my head. I try not to think about what's going on inside my house. I try to concentrate on acting hungry.

"Okay, what's wrong?" Derrick asks.

I probably seem bipolar to him. Because I've just been talked about killing him. And now I want to have lunch with him. I take a deep breath. "Um, I'm hungry, didn't I already tell you?"

"Claire," he says, without adding anything else on. My stomach tightens when he says it. Maybe I really am hungry.

"_Rick_ is at my house right now," I mutter, vaguely remembering something about not letting Derrick play therapist again. What if it became routine? That would suck.

He stops at a red light and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. "And Rick is who?"

"The most pretentious egotistical pig in all of Westchester, maybe in all of New York, possibly in all of America, probably of the world," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Shit, I thought I held that spot," Derrick grumbled.

"You don't matter that much to me," I quip.

He smiles. "But back to Rick."

I examine the ends of my blonde hair. "He's my mother's current contractor." Derrick waits. I don't want to say anything else, but the silence is almost egging me to go on. "I think my mother might be..." I swallow. "You know." I sink into the leather seat a bit. "Having an affair," I almost whisper.

We get to the diner and Derrick doesn't say anything as he gets out and I get out and walk to the diner. He seems to be thinking, an expression I don't see a lot on him. It looks good. His brown eyes look even deeper, and –

My eyes widen as I see who's sitting at the first booth. Instinctively, I duck down behind a table, bringing Derrick with me.

"What the hell, Claire?" He cries out. I put a finger to my lips and point to the booth. He follows my finger and a surprised expression crosses his face. "Oh my god."

"I can't be seen in public with you! Especially with them right there," I groan, leaning back against the table we're hiding under and looking back at the table where Massie and Cam are seated.

"Thanks."

A face pops in front of us. My eyes widen as I try not to scream. "Um, hi," the face says. "I'm the manager here. If you'd like to dine here, please, do not do so under the table." The face smiles.

"Right, sorry, sorry," I apologize, as I get out from under the table.

Massie catches my eye and rises one eyebrow when she sees me, confused. Then, the other eyebrow goes up when Derrick pops up next to me. Then a knowing grin spreads out across her face. I shake my head desperately, but then Cam turns around too, and his jaw drops a little.

"What was that about being seen in public with me?" Derrick murmurs. I step on his foot. The diner's doors open again, and out of all the people who could've walked in, _Alicia Rivera_ sauntered in, her big lips practically reflective, the cut of her Ralph Lauren sweater low.

"Did you like, kick a puppy or something?" I ask, because only seriously bad karma could make this happen. Josh Hotz walks in after her, grinning and wearing sunglasses.

"Oh, it's Josh," Derrick says brightly, waving.

"Is there like a fifty percent discount if you're on the soccer team or something?" I ask Derrick.

He shrugs. "You're the one who wanted to come here."

"Claire, come sit," Massie calls. She seems happy and upbeat. Her skirt has flowers on it. She pats the pleather seat next to her. "What are you doing here?" She asks, smiling.

"I was hungry," I answer, even though that's barely an answer.

"We just spent four hours at the library," Derrick elaborates.

Massie frowns. "Oh, I haven't started my project yet," she says.

"But it's already November," I say. "The semester is over in a month. And the semester means half the year is gone and-"

Massie rolls her amber eyes. "Yeah, but it's such a drag working with Kemp, I mean, everytime I go to my seat in science, he just says, 'Yes', and laughs to himself. He needs like a fucking therapist or something."

Cam is looking at Derrick and both look like they're sharing an inside joke.

Massie and Cam's food arrive, surprisingly, Massie's ordered a burger. I look at Cam's dish. He's ordered the same thing. But unlike Cam, Massie doesn't touch hers, just starts drowning a french fry in ketchup.

"Do you want some?" She offers, pushing the plate towards me and taking the french fry out of the ketchup and laying it down on her napkin. It occurs to me I haven't seen Massie eat in a while. Like, since eighth grade, a while. I shake my head.

"We should go," I say, looking over at where Alicia and Josh are situated. Alicia is looking at us. "Right, Derrick? We should go. Let's go."

"But we just got here-"

"Wait, you guys came here... Together?" Cam asks, the eyebrow of his blue eye raised.

"It's greener for the environment," I say, repeating my line from earlier.

"Yeah, I'm sure it is," Cam mutters.

**dh;**

"You know, I know what it's like," I say. Claire doesn't say anything. "I mean, thinking a parent is having an affair. Trying to protect your brothers and sister from it. I know what it's like."

She still doesn't say anything.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," I try again. Nothing. "So, you're not alone, is all I'm saying."

"Thanks," she mumbles, getting out of the car.

* * *

_"darling, please believe me_

_i'll never do you no harm_"

* * *

**A/N: **not one of my better chapters. i don't know what to say now except i imagine derrick to look like a younger, less pointy version of bradley james - look him up, darls - without um, the chest hair? /gah that sounds bad/ no, bradley james is cute. no, shut up. he is. and mark salling isn't gay and um, lyrics don't fit at all i know and are from the beatles (nowhere boy with aaron johnson in october, omg!)

thank you emmie, PaulaBooo, clairingtonlover and SportxxGirlxx: hey, would it be a spoiler if i said yes? because we all know how derrick and claire are going end up, you know? unless i decide to be a bitch, and have claire elope to alaska with plovert, and have derrick commit suicide. i'm sorry. i'm hungry.

i'll quit rambling.

oh! one more thing, i swear: i'm starting a new story when i'm close to finishing this. it's going to be called 'tonight's the night', so i guess you can tell what it's going to be about, kind of?


	9. so live it well

**A/N:** is it just me or is like, every other story in the clique archive like, 'what happens when a new clique moves to town? submit your own characters!' or something? sorry, newbie talking here. i just find it kind of... i dunno. i don't know what i'm talking about.

* * *

_"it's a hard life to live so live it well_

_i'll be your friend not to pretend"

* * *

_

**monday**

_cl;_

Before I leave for school on Monday morning, my mother stops me at the foot of the stairs. "What are you wearing?" She asks, looking at my clothes. I look down. I'm wearing a blue Lacoste sweater and torn black jeans Massie had bought for me. "You look trashy."

I make a face. "What do you mean?"

"Your jeans are ruined."

"That's just the style, Mom," I tell her.

"The style of what? The trailer park? Go change," she orders, gesturing towards the stairs.

I start to protest, "Mom, I'm going to be late for school."

She sighs, that sigh that always made me feel like I don't deserve to be her daughter. "What made you buy that, Claire?" She asks.

"I didn't buy it. Massie got it for me."

My mother makes a face. "Massie? Massie Block? _She_ got you _that?_" There's clearly a tone of disgust in her voice. "Didn't she start a fire when you were in eighth grade? The fire that killed somebody?"

"She had an alibi, Mom, she was sleeping over when that happened," I say tiredly. "Mom, I really need to go to school."

"Maybe you should stop hanging around her, Claire, she's a bad influence."

And I gape at her. "Are you seriously telling me who I should be friends with now?" I ask angrily.

"Don't you know who her father is? People say he's a _crime boss_, Claire," she insists. I roll my eyes and put one hand on my hip. "Don't look at your mother like that."

"You're being ridiculous."

"You're not thinking straight," she snaps.

I don't answer, only walk out of the front door, slamming it behind me.

_dh;_

"So how's Mission: Get Claire Lyons in Bed Before Summer Vacation coming along? Also known as Mission: GCLIBBSV," Kemp asks me, as Olivia Ryan walks by. "Yes."

"Great," I mutter. I've almost forgotten about that. And on Saturday, I had come to the realization that, yes, Claire Lyons is an actual person with actual feelings and get this: actual problems. It put a lot of things in perspective.

"They went on a date on Saturday," Josh muses.

"Wait, what?" Kemp asks, looking away from the girls and at me quizzically.

"Yeah, what?" I ask incredulously, looking at Josh.

Josh looks at me, confused. "Didn't you? You were at that diner. You should've stayed, they were giving free ice cream to soccer players."

"You went on a date with Claire Lyons?" Kemp exclaims. "Dude, I was on Facebook all weekend, and you didn't _tell me about it?"_

_ "_You're a girl, sometimes, Hurley," Cam remarks. "Seriously."

"But Harrington went on a date! Since when did Harrington date?" He points out, gesturing wildly with his hands. "More importantly, since when did he date Claire Lyons? Dude, I do not have a hundred dollars on me right now."

"It wasn't a date," I say. "We were there for like, three seconds. And I didn't sleep with her."

Kemp muses, "Boring date."

"I went on a date with Massie Block," Cam volunteers.

"See, that's just crazy shit talk right there," Kemp mutters, leaning against the tree.

* * *

**tuesday**

_cl;_

We have a sub today. Everyone has switched seats. I wanted to sit next to Massie, but she's sitting with Cam, so I'm stuck in my seat with Derrick, like always.

"Stop looking so sad," Derrick says, smiling that smile that made him look like he knew everything down to how many girls were currently about to die of a heart attack because of him.

"I'm actually ecstatic that I can sit next to you."

"Oh. Sweet. So do you want my number now? Or I can just give you my house address."

"I was being facetious."

_dh;_

What the hell does facetious mean?

* * *

**wednesday**

_cl;_

Derrick walks into class and compliments my shirt.

I nod.

_dh;_

We're learning about metaphors in English. We have to make one up. Mine is, _If normal girls are like glass in terms of 'breakability', Claire Lyons is the fucking Great Wall of China.

* * *

_

**thursday**

_cl;_

"I have a boyfriend," is what I find myself telling Derrick.

He stares at me. "A boyfriend?" I nod, trying to remain expressionless. I don't think it's working though, because he's looking skeptical. "And who's the uh, lucky guy?"

_Shit._ "It's a secret," I tell him. "You know, like Romeo and Juliet. Nobody can know, otherwise... we'll die."

He raises an eyebrow. "Does he go to this school?"

"Yes?" Then I cough, and say it more firmly. "Yes." I nod to emphasise. "Yes, he goes to our school." Now, as long as he doesn't ask me who this alleged boyfriend is, I'll be fine.

"And who is he?" Derrick asks again.

"I told you it's a secret," I say.

"You can tell me anything," he replies. Which hits a bit too close to home. The back of my neck prickles. "I'm totally on top of this clandestine boyfriend thing. I have a thirteen year old sister."

"It's still a secret, no matter how many sisters you have," I argue.

"I think you're lying," he says, matter-of-factly.

"Well, I'm not," I lie.

"Prove it," he says.

"You obviously don't know the meaning of secret," I sniff.

He gives me a look. "You're the one who told me. There has to be a reason why." _Yeah, maybe because you keep flirting with me? _"Who is it? Is he on the soccer team?"

I let out a strangled noise somewhere between a yes and a no. I point behind me randomly. "It's him," I mumble, hoping I'm not point to Kemp or something.

_dh;_

I give her a very, very surprised look. "Um, Josh?" I ask incredulously. "Funny, Claire."

"No, really," she insists. And now I know she's fucking with me. "It's just a secret. Don't tell anyone. Don't even tell him. He'd get uh, mad. Because it's a secret."

"Hey, Josh," I call. He looks up.

"No!" She cries. She actually stands up in protest. "Do you want me to define secret for you? Kept hidden from knowledge, not expressed, known to oneself or a few select others. As in, no, you don't call Josh over-"

She shuts up when Josh makes it to the table. "What?" He asks.

"Claire just told me something interesting and I want you to confirm it," I told him. He just looks at me, even more confused. I throw a glance at Claire, whose eyes are wide.

She bites her lip.

Josh looks at her.

I look at her.

She looks at me.

Then at Josh.

"You're kind of an ass, you know?" She says.

"And you're kind of cute when you're angry, you know?" I reply. Her cheeks turn pink.

"Um, so..." Josh says. "Should I just... go?"

"Yes," Claire says.

"No," I say. Josh looks torn. Claire looks at me again. It's a haughty look. Her arms are crossed over her chest. Her eyes are bright. Her lips are set. "Anytime, Claire."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she huffs.

I lean forward in the table and rest my chin on my hand. "Okay, whatever," I shrug, letting it go, at the same time she sighs, "Fine" and goes up onto her toes, grabs Josh, and kisses him.

The whole class stops talking and turns to stare.

After thirty long seconds, she turns to me, says, "Happy?" Then grabs her bag and walks out, muttering something about the nurse's office.

Josh looks at me, his hand at his lips. "Um," he says. "I didn't plan that."

"Yeah."

* * *

**friday**

_cl;_

I wish I would die of embarrassment. _  
_

_dh;_

Claire Lyons is enigma.

* * *

**A/N: **lyrics are from the kooks. they would've worked better for the last chapter. whatever.

this chapter was all over the place. blame it on this girl, named artificiallysweetened here, i was like, WHAT AM I GOING TO WRITE HELP ME. and then she was like, CLAIRE SHOULD KISS JOSH. and then i was like, what? and she was all, it was in the books, and then i said, but this is AU, and she said, it's like an allusion to the books! ANA, YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M GIVING UP TO CHAT WITH YOU RIGHT NOW, if you don't use my idea, i think i'll eat the ENGLISH CHOCOLATE BARS I GOT YOU. to which i said, wait! i love the idea! because me and chocolate are soulmates and she was like, oh okay. and don't forget to feed my goldfish!

i don't know why i just typed all of that there. i need to stop with the atrocious author's notes. this was a filler. i got a franz ferdinand poster.


	10. made pretend

**cl;**

"Okay, so I have theme for my party: purple," Massie tells me excitedly on Sunday. She leans forwards, her hands on her knees. "Yeah?"

"Isn't your birthday in like, May?" I ask her, frowning. I look around her room. Gold ribbon, white envelopes, and purple pens are scattered everywhere. Her dog, Bean, is sleeping on top of a pile of cards.

"Yeah, but I have to start planning now, otherwise it'll be really lame, like every other party in this town," Massie yawns, examining her nails. "Now I just need the list of invites. I have you, Cam, and Dylan from school. And then from the city, there's Dempsey, Landon, Skye..." she continues listing out people.

"You should invite Derrick," I blurt out.

She stops and stares at me. "Derrick Harrington?" She asks. I give her a small nod. Her mouth starts to form a smile. "Why? Do you like him?"

I scoff. "No. I'm just... you know. You're inviting Cam, and you don't want him to be the only soccer player there, he'll feel left out," I tell her. "Really, you should invite the whole soccer team. But Derrick just popped up in my head-"

"Because you like him!"

"-because he's the captain."

Massie gasps. "I told you they were the Pirates. They have a captain and everything." She looks at me like she's serious.

"Yeah, sure Mass," I mutter.

"Fine, we'll invite Derrick," Massie says, scrawling his name under all of her city buddies. "And, I guess, the rest of soccer team."

I smile.

–

I get home at half-past eleven, and I'm exhausted. However, I can't sleep, because Todd is wailing. I wait for five minutes, but neither of my parents seem to be making any action to calm him down, so I roll out of bed and check his bedroom. I sit on the chair next to his bed and push hair out of his forehead.

I don't know how long I wait. But finally, he quiets down, his cries being replaced with a soft snore.

I glance at the clock. It's two. I'm far too tired to move from the chair, so I just lean my head back and try to sleep. I doze in and out, waking up every half hour, until the digital clock by Todd's bed tells me it's ten past seven.

Reluctantly, I get up, realizing I have _school._

**dh;**

On Monday, I catch up with Claire as she was walking out of her history class. "Hey, Lyons," I call. She turns around, and she looks tired. She had been quiet in science, too. She starts walking over to me, Massie trailing behind, texting someone. "Um, our project..."

She stares at me, then tucks a strand of light blonde hair behind her ear. "What are you doing, Derrick?" She asks, her face totally expressionless.

"What?" I ask, confused.

"You can _not_ like science this much," she points out, staring at me. "What are you doing?" My mouth is hanging open for a moment, before she continues. "I think we should split up the project. You can prepare the demonstration, and I'll do the rest. _Try_ to do a good job, okay?"

Um, ouch.

She blinks, looks down, then walks away.

* * *

_ "and all together it went well_

_we made pretend we were best friends_

_but then she said oh you're a freak..."_

_

* * *

_

**cl;**

I stare at the empty Powerpoint.

_Pyrology,_ I type. _By Derrick Harrington and Claire Lyons. Mr. Allen's per. 1 science class._

Then I delete everything, and resume staring at the white space, the blinking cursor.

_Pyrology: The Study of Fire and Heat. By Derrick Harrington and Claire Lyons._

I delete everything again.

I sigh, then look up images of fire on Google. Then I close it immediately because it brings up too many memories. Instead, I shut off my computer, then pick up my house phone and call Massie. "Hello?" She answers. Then she giggles. "Ohmygod, Cam, stop it. I'm on the phone."

"Uh, is this a bad time?" I ask, frowning. "Because I can totally call back in like, an hour or something. Or tomorrow."

"No, no," Massie reassures me. "What's up? What happened?"

"Um, I can't decide which font to use on my Powerpoint," I lie. "Should I go with a simple, Times New Roman? Or should I make it more interesting, maybe using Comic Sans MC? Or a really scripty one, like-"

Massie laughs. "God, Claire, you're weird," she tells me. "Cam, go... get a beer or something. Sorry. Uh, did you really call to ask me about font?"

No. "Yeah."

Massie sighs. "I thought it would be something more interesting, like how Derrick Harrington wants to get in your pants," she says, like she's talking about how nice the weather is in Timbuktu.

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, you're like, virgin-hot, like Reese Witherspoon in _Cruel Intentions_, you know?" Massie continues. "Don't worry though, he's fun."

Which causes me to hang up on Massie in a flurry of shock.

Massie calls back in three seconds. "Did you really need to do that?" Massie asks.

"Did you really sleep with Derrick?"

"Yeah."

I hang up on her again.

When she calls back, she tells me huffily, "If you hang up again I'll do something reckless to give you a heart attack. Like, not do my homework or something."

"Why?"

"Because you're being weird-"

"No, I mean, _why?_"

I can imagine Massie shrugging nonchalantly and taking a drag from her cigarette. "He was in St. Barth's. I was in St. Barth's. It just worked."

I roll my eyes. "No, Mass. Love-hate works. When someone likes rock and somebody else likes rock, that works. When you're in the grocery store and you both reach for the crunchy peanut butter, that works. Being in the same place _does not work_."

"Calm down, it was like, a long time ago," Massie yawns.

"When?"

"August. Don't hang up!" She cries. I removed the finger that had instinctively moved to the END button on my phone. "God, Claire, if you like him, you just need to tell me."

"I don't. Don't even suggest that. I'm just.. surprised. Because I used to think that anybody who would get near him without being severely intoxicated or assigned to him by Mr. Allen would be you know, lacking in the brain cell department."

"Who said I wasn't severely intoxicated?" Massie says mischievously.

I hang up on her again.

* * *

**A/N: **so i've officially given you guys three crap chapters in a row. at least this one was short, right? D: i think the next one might be better. maybe. thanks for putting up with it. i thought up an ending to this story, i quite like it, and i'm writing like a chapter per day now. please review (:

i wonder if anybody reads my rambly author's notes.

OH! AND BRADLEY JAMES! right, okay, so i have a link on my profile for what i think derrick could possibly look like, because some pictures of bradley james are, as one person pointed out, bleeding and shit. yeah. he's the blond one.


	11. hold it to the rock

_"i crumble completely_

_when you cry"

* * *

_

**cl;**

Todd is crying again. Food is everywhere. "Todd, calm down, please," I beg him, picking up the bowl that's on the kitchen floor and setting it on the counter. "Do you want mashed potatoes?" I push the bowl towards him.

He cries louder and swipes his fork dangerously near my face. I back away.

"Mom," I call. "Come on, Todd, you need to eat."

He waves the fork again, and this time it actually hits my cheek this time. I groan. There's probably mashed potatoes all over my face now. I run upstairs, anger bubbling up inside me when I see Rick sitting on the couch in the living room, and wash it off, then walk back downstairs.

I hear two voices talking. I slow down.

"I want to, Rick. I do want to go away with you. I just can't."

"Is it Claire?"

"Yes. I need to make sure she stays on track for the rest of the school year. She's already starting to get a bit rebellious."

"What about Todd?"

"Well, Todd doesn't really matter, Rick."

I freeze. Then, the that has already been brewing inside of me explodes. I storm down the stairs and stand in front of the couch, not saying anything. My mother, who's holding a glass of champagne, sets it down on the table. "Claire," she says. Her voice sounds completely neutral.

I press my lips together. Tears form in my eyes.

"What happened to your cheek, darling?" Rick asks, standing up and walking over.

I back away. "Nothing," I snap.

"Claire!" My mother exclaims. "Apologize to Mr. Abott right now!" And she's acting like she hadn't just been talking about moving out with Rick. She's acting like she normally would. "I'm sorry, she's not normally like this."

"Mom, how could you?" I ask quietly, my voice cracking a bit.

"How could I what?" She asks, still playing dumb.

"Cheat on Dad?" I yell, throwing my hands up in the air. "Say that Todd doesn't matter? Todd matters. How can he not matter? He's your son!"

She stares at me, then picks up the champagne flute and downs the rest of it. "Claire, you don't know what you're talking about. Go study."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I scream. "I just heard everything you said! Don't act like I didn't! I was on the stairwell, and by the way, I think it's really fucking stupid to conduct a love affair in your own living room-"

"Claire, darling, your cheek looks really bad," Rick says.

"Screw you," I sneer.

"Claire," my mom says, her voice deadly calm.

But I'm done. I'm sick and tired. I turn on my heel, storm out of the house, grabbing my bag and jacket lying by the door. I'm not even crying, I'm just pissed. Pissed. At my mother - did I even want to call her that? - at Rick, at my life.

I shove the key into the ignition of my car and zoom out, not really caring where I'm going until I feel like stopping.

* * *

_"oh what a world that we both come in_

_i said hold it to the rock and let it in_"

* * *

**dh;**

The doorbell rings, and I yell at my sister to go get it, then resume to flipping through the channels on my TV. Food Network. Lifetime. E!. Disney Channel. I stop and watch for a few moments, until I hear a familiar voice.

"Oh, are you Derrick's sister?" Claire asks. She sounds chipper as per usual but it sounds... more one edge. I freeze. Maybe I'm hallucinating, hearing things. "Um, where is he?"

And you can hear your sister's gum snapping. "Upstairs," she says, her voice sounding bored. "Tell him that he owes me twenty bucks, while you're there, okay?"

There are footsteps on the chair. I start flicking through channels quicker, trying to find something better than _Hannah Montana_ to watch. I end up stopping at a war-looking movie when Claire knocks on the open door to my room.

"You owe your sister twenty dollars," she says, now simply sounding depressed. I look at her. She looks flushed. Then she looks at the TV screen. "Why are you watching _The Notebook_?" She asks.

"That's _The Note_-" I stare at the screen. And groan. Then flip the channel again, to a game show. "Um, so what's up? Because you told me we should split up the project, and I can't think of any other reason you'd be standing in my bedroom" _-except to fuck me, but obviously we're not getting anywhere near that zone yet-_ "on a Saturday."

She nods. "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry, I was really tired on Monday," she mumbles. "Um, it's just..." she trails off. "My mother. She..." she trails off again. "I'm sorry, this was really... not a good idea." She thinks to herself for a few moments. I flick off the TV and roll off of my bed, facing her.

"Your cheek," I say.

She puts a hand up to her face. "It's nothing." She runs a hand through her hair. "Todd was upset. It's fine." She shakes her head.

I walk up to her and examine it closer. It's like a huge, red mark. It's not bleeding or anything, but it looks bad. "Are you sure?" I ask, raising a hand to her cheek, looking at her, making sure she isn't going to pull away.

She seems frozen in her place. Quickly, I put my hand in my pocket. "Um, so your mom," I say.

She nods. "Yeah. She – she... I can't believe her."

"What happened?" I ask.

Claire sighs. "Well, she told Rick she'd run away with him, said Todd didn't matter, and acted like she didn't," she lists off.

"That's... pretty bad," I say, knowing that's kind of painfully obvious and wishing I have something better to tell her.

"Oh, and it all took place in our living room," Claire mutters. "I just can't believe her. Who would do that? I mean, Todd's her son, and my dad loves her, and she doesn't want me to be friends with Massie, I – I don't know what to do -"

"Do you do any sports?" I suddenly ask her.

She quits her rant. "What?"

I lick my lips, knowing I'm about to sound like the epitome of stupid jock. "Or, you know, work out or anything?"

"I um, used to play tennis," she says.

I smile. "I mean, like a _real_ sport."

She smiles back. "Tennis is a real sport. Why?" She asks, biting her lip. "I mean, why do you want to know?"

I rub the back of my neck. This was kind of outside of my boundaries – the shit that I buried deep. "Um, whenever my mother would, um, pull shit like this, I would go to the gym and benchpress the hell out myself," I say. "Or I would play a sport for five hours straight. Just as a way to sort of, I dunno, burn out emotion. Just, exercise, in general." Exercise like running. Like soccer. And like, well, sex. But I wasn't going to tell her that. "But, a real sport, of course," I add on.

Claire rolls her eyes. "Tennis is a real sport," she insists.

"You wear a skirt, it's automatically not a real sport," I argue.

"That is an extremely sexist comment and I can't believe you just said it," Claire sniffs. "And what would your idea of a real sport be, anyway? _Soccer?_"

"Well, yeah," I reply. She gives me an incredulous look. "You run in soccer. Your heart rate speeds up. You kick. You sweat. It's a real sport."

"You do that in tennis," Claire points out. "Well, not the kicking part." I open my mouth to protest, but she laughs and stands up. "You know what, that actually sounds like a good idea. I'm going to go to the country club, and I'm going to-"

"Not. A real. Sport."

She shrugs. "Sorry, but not all of us are the next Cristiano Ronaldo," she says, grinning. "I don't know how to play soccer. I guess I'm stuck with tennis." She makes an apologetic face.

"I'll teach you," I suggest.

She's momentarily speechless, just sort of standing there and blinking. "Okay," she agrees. I'm surprised. I thought she'd be more like, 'No way, you're less evolved than me' or whatever her insult of the week is. "Teach me soccer."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"Yeah."

"Okay."

She leaves and comes back in three seconds. "Um, what time?"

"Saturday at four thirty?" I say a random time. She nods and leaves again.

Then she comes back and actually enters my room this time. "And, thanks, a lot," she says. "I mean, for listening. It's... it feels good telling someone about these things. And that sounded a lot less lame in my head." She nods and turns to leave, but doesn't.

She turns around, presses her lips against mine for a millisecond, then runs out the door.

* * *

_"take your skin off _

_when you're talkin' to me"_

* * *

**A/N:** err, i don't know what to say. but i promised myself i wouldn't ramble anymore so... yeah. can i say something really quickly, though? when i re-read the chapter before posting, i cringed, and i realized i should stop writing at three AM in the morning.

(first lyrics are form the arctic monkeys, second&third are from the killers - i know the third one doesn't fit, BUT THOSE LYRICS ARE INGENIOUS)


	12. never resort

_ "no i never resort to_

_ kissing your photo, honest_"

* * *

**dh;**

gotthehotz: have you banged claire yet  
derrick857: she kissed me  
gotthehotz: yeah, isn't she a great kisser?  
gotthehotz: i mean, um, what happened  
derrick857: and now i'm going to teach her how to play soccer on saturday  
gotthehotz: i really want to make that gaping emoticon, but it's gay

**cl;**

massiekur: so on a scale of 1-10, how hot do you think derrick harrington is?  
clairebear: why?  
massiekur: just wondering  
clairebear: why?  
massiekur: do you like him?  
clairebear: why?  
massiekur: if you don't say anything besides 'why?', i'll assume the worst – you do, you've done it, you're pregnant, and you'll have a bunch of little manwhore-soccer-blondie-virgin babies in 9 months.  
massiekur: so do you like him?  
clairebear: sure. he works harder than you would think  
massiekur: don't play stupid, c. like him like, you-would-fuck-him  
clairebear: when you put it like that, no  
massiekur: oh, i'm sorry. i'll uncorrupt it for you: would you kiss him like you kissed josh hotz? ;)  
clairebear: i have to go study for a test on monday  
massiekur: it's winter break, c.  
massiekur: claire.  
massiekur: claire!  
massiekur: CLAIRE._  
Autoreply from clairebear: Sorry, I'm not here right now._

_

* * *

_

_"i just had to see how the _

_chemicals taste there, honey"_

_

* * *

_

**dh;**

I arrive at the soccer field at half past four and see Claire sitting in the grass, wearing a black v-neck and jeans, leaning against a tree. It had rained yesterday morning, the field is in this perfect state of moisture.

I walk up to her, the ball tucked beneath my arm. "Are you seriously wearing jeans when you're about to learn soccer?" I question her.

She looks up. "Are you seriously wearing shorts in the middle of winter?" She replies. I sigh, and hand her the soccer ball. "Um, so what do you want me to do with this?" She asks, holding it gingerly in her hands.

"Kick it into the goal."

"But it's far away," she says, looking at the goal that's like, ten feet away from her. "And why? You haven't taught me anything yet."

"This is like a uh," I search for the word. "A pretest. To gauge your skill. You know, like when you take tests so they know which math class to put you in?"

She frowns. "Oh." And swallows sets the ball on the ground and stares at it.

"You know, babe, looking at the soccer ball won't do much," I say.

She bites her lip and blushes. "Um, okay, right," she stammers. And looks at the soccer ball, then at the goal, then closes her eyes and very clumsily kicks the ball about five feet away from the goal. It's probably the first time I've ever seen her stumble. "Oh, god."

"Hm," I say. "So I guess we're starting on level zero."

"What's that?"

"Learning how to kick a ball."

She makes a face. "I'm that bad?"  
I scratch the back of my neck. "Well, um, it might be a while before you're, say, participating in the FIFA," I say. "There's always the kiddie soccer league."

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever, Harrington."

**cl;**

At six, it starts drizzling.

"No, you missed it," I protest. "I made it! I swear, I did. You just weren't looking."

"That seems to be the only time you make goals, Claire," Derrick argues.

"No, but I really made it," I counter. He looks at the soccer ball, which is lying quite far away from the white net. "Well, I mean, it looks like I didn't, but I did. Well, the ball ricocheted off of the side of the-"

Derrick laughs and looks down. "That doesn't count."

I cross my arms over my chest. "It should." He shakes his head and just looks at me, like I'm crazy, which I'm not, because if the ball is in when a tennis ball hits the line, a soccer ball should be in when it hits the side of the goal. Right? It makes perfect sense to me. "Stop laughing at me. I made it."

His face breaks out into a smile and he steps closer to me and I can see the outline of his muscles through the now-dampened white shirt he's wearing.

I have a weird flashback to what Massie had asked me earlier: On a scale of one to ten, how hot is Derrick Harrington?

The number twelve flits through my mind. Maybe twelve point-five.

"Claire?" Derrick asks, tilting his head to the side.

I blink. "What?" I ask, acting like I hadn't just been looking at his abs.

"I said, it's raining, do you want to go?"

And I realize it totally is. The sky is completely gray, and droplets of water are hitting my head. "Yeah," I say. "We should – I mean, I should go. Um, thanks for the –"

Before I can complete my sentence, I hear the words, "You aren't getting away from me that quickly, are you?" Derrick asks. "Because you always leave. Makes me feel like I'm not a fun person to be around, and I spent seventeen years of my life telling myself that I am." He makes a face. And rain pelts down harder. Beads of water drop off of his hair.

I swallow. "Well, I – I... I dunno, I'm not that interesting," I say. "You have a fan page on Facebook, and I have a handicapped brother. Doesn't really compare."

"I have a fan page on Facebook?" Derrick asks, a deep crease in his forehead, confused, which in turn confused me because I thought he had created it.

"Not that I look up these things," I reassure him.

"Darn," Derrick says sarcastically. My arms are starting to feel numb and I wonder which part of my brain had decided it would be smart of me to not bring a jacket in winter in New York.

"But back to whatever you were saying," I say.

"You're not leaving me," he states simply.

I nod, confused. "Okay. Cool. So we'll just stay out here and have a heart to heart while I get pneumonia and you get something worse than pneumonia," I say, nodding, thinking, _shut up, Claire._ "I'm down. This is fun. A bit cold, but fun." I hug my arms.

"Is that really the only thing you can think about right now?" Derrick asks, not really sounding mocking, just amused.

"Is the only thing I can think about right now a major illness I am in serious danger of getting that kills 60,000 people per year? Yeah," I answer. "Why? What do you propose I think about? Which Axe to use and what pair of Nikes will match my shirt?"

Derrick frowns, confused. "No?"

"Well, that's a relief."

Derrick shakes his head and looks at me. "Claire."

"How are you not cold at all?" I ask incredulously, staring at him, just standing in the rain like it's a balmy seventy-five degrees outside. "You're missing some major nerve endings, Derrick, I really worry about you sometimes, and-"

"Claire." Derrick repeats, and I shut up. He blows out a sigh and looks up at the sky and then back down at me, and I waits him for say something. He takes a step towards me and my heart rate jumps. "Claire."

"Yeah?"

And then his lips are on mine in a kiss, a real kiss, and it's soft and warm and I forget that it's raining and I forget that it's freezing because I can only focus on Derrick, Derrick who's too good at soccer and Derrick who's a twelve and a half out of ten and Derrick whose arms are wrapped around my waist.

We pull apart, but not really, and I mumble, "I guess that takes care of the cold problem." He laughs and smiles and kisses me again, but only for a second before he pulls away.

"We should go inside," he says quietly.

I'm breathing heavily as I nod, even though, suddenly, I don't want to go anywhere.

* * *

_"because after all_

_you're my wonderwall"  
_

* * *

**A/N:** can i just tell you they had sex and get it over with? okay, cool. because i had this whole thing written out with like, stuff about how shit aligned with the stars, then i deleted it because it made me wince. (lyrics are from franz ferdinand and oasis)

sorry i've been gone for a while. well, a while considering i used to update almost daily. i just kind of forgot about this. well, not _forgot_, but you know, one track mind, stuff like that. if you must know, i saw inception three times. it's amazing how cameron from _10 things i hate about you_ has grown up. and don't even get me started on leo! :D


	13. fluorescent adolescent

i would like to dedicate this story to "_**thosebluegreeneyes**_" (tess) for this amazing, beautiful, long review that i read, admired, and totally forgot to reply to. seriously. you should read it. it's the best review i've ever receive, possibly, so thank you, tess, for that :] thank you so, so much for all of your reviews, they've been completely lovely. i'm really sorry about the long wait for this chapter, but i finally sat myself down, put on my new _xx_ CD, and told myself to write this. unfortunately, it's a bit of a filler. fortunately, my creative juices are totally flowing now! [:

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_"oh that boy's a slag_

_the best you ever had"_

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**dh;**

I wake up to my door opening. I blink open my eyes, and realize sun light is attempting to blind me by streaming in through the gaps in my blinds and that it's nearly mid-day. After I process all of this, I look at the door.

Josh, Kemp, Plovert, and Cam are there, poking their heads through the door. (Note that I'm friends with them because we're on the soccer team together, and not because I think they're smart or funny or something.)

Kemp has this confused expression on his face as he mouths, "Are we interrupting something?" And pointing at my bed. I look over and see Claire, curled up next to me, her blonde hair laying across her shoulders. I let out a breath I didn't know I've been holding.

And then I give Kemp a look, like, no fucking shit, Hurley. "What the hell are you doing in my house?" I mouth back.

He taps his watch and mouths, "Soccer practice, and you're the only one with a car _and_ a license that hasn't been taken away."

"Get the fuck out," I say.

He nods, then turns towards the other three missing links. "Go, go, go," he whispers loudly, flapping his hand. Claire stirs. I make a 'hurry up' motion. They all get out, closing the door way too loudly behind them. I look back over to Claire, and her eyes are open.

She bolts upright. "Ohmygod," she mumbles, looking around.

"Claire," I say.

"I - what time is it?" She asks, getting out of my bed and running her fingers through her hair. "Twelve. It's twelve. Oh, shit, shit, shit -"

"Claire," I repeat.

She stops moving for a second and it seems to dawn on her that I am, in fact, in the room. "Sorry. Sorry. I was being...um, I just, sorry," she apologizes, calming down. "Sorry. This is, um..." she trails off and bites her lip and her cheeks turn red. Under her breath, I can hear her say something like "awkward".

I hear a crash downstairs in the kitchen, and I sigh. "I'm going to go and see what that was," I tell her, looking at her to make sure she's okay. I get out of bed too, and find some shorts to put on. "I'll be right back."

"Oh, okay," Claire says, nodding enthusiastically. "Actually, I'll meet you downstairs." She offers me a shy, small smile, before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and turning around, running her hand through her hair again.

I kind of worry about her as a walk downstairs, which is weird, because I didn't even worry when my sister went missing for two days. (Turns out she was just at a friend's house.)

When I get downstairs, four pairs of eyes are staring at me. "Uh, good morning," I greet lamely, before looking at the floor and spotting a shattered plate.

"Plovert did it," Kemp announces, pushing Plovert closer to the scene of the crime.

"I didn't mean to!" Plovert blurted. "Well, I mean, I wasn't aiming for the floor."

"Glad to hear that," I replied, deciding to ignore the broken dish for now. There's a silence, an anticipated silence. I look around the kitchen. "What?"

"What do you mean, what?" Kemp says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "What the hell happened, man?"

I was going to tell him to shut up, but then I hear soft footsteps behind me and I turn around. "Uh, wow, were they here the whole time?" Claire asks, her blue eyes wide, her cheeks coloring again. She had found her jeans but she's still wearing my shirt, and I can't help but think about how..._good_ she looks. "Good morning. Or, well, good afternoon, I guess. Um, I mean, hi, Josh. Hi, Kemp. Hi, Chris. Hi, Cam." She gives each of them a small wave.

They each give her weird smiles back.

"Wow, so I just remembered, I have a ton of math homework," Claire says loudly. "I'm going to go. Home, I mean. Uh, yeah. Thanks, Derrick, for the uh, the..." she frowns and bites her lip. "The soccer lesson. It was...fun."

"I'm sure it was," Kemp remarks, and Claire's blush deepens as I give him the finger behind my back.

"I really should get home," Claire repeats.

"Do you need a ride?" I ask, before hearing Kemp and Josh snicker.

"No," she says, drawing out the 'o' sound. "I really need to go. Okay. Yeah. My car is just...by the park, um, okay, well, thanks again. Happy holidays," she says, now speaking to the group of dipshits behind me, before walking past me and out the front door, which closes with a loud slam.

The instant she's gone, I turn to face my friends.

The first thing Josh says is, "You're not human."

Kemp adds in, "Dude, I don't have hundred bucks on me right now."

"My mind is spinning. I think I just lapsed into a coma," Cam declares, staring off into the distant with blank eyes. "Dude. We just witnessed the unwitnessable. This is the apocalypse. Pigs can fly now. Hell has frozen over."

"So what was it like?" Kemp asks, pouring himself some cereal.

"What was what like?" I reply, sitting down at the kitchen table and snatching the cereal box away from him.

Josh sighs. "Not that again."

"I'm not talking to you guys about this," I proclaim.

Kemp and Josh look at each other. "You had no problem telling us about other girls," Josh points out. "Example; you say Alicia Rivera is nothing but quiet in bed. I tested that a week ago. You're right."

"Dude, I'm trying to eat," Cam says, half a Pop-Tart in his mouth. "Hey, would you mind if I paid your fifty dollars in...gum?" He asks meekly, holding up a packet of Trident Layers.

Kemp says, "That wasn't even funny the first time. It's not even funny on the commercials."

"I can't believe you did it," Josh says, shaking his head.

"Do you guys want to walk to soccer?" I threaten.

"Of course not, Your Highness," Plovert says. He turns to the rest of the table. "Ha. I didn't bet anything against Harrington, you dumbasses."

Josh holds up a wad of cash. "Take this with pride," he says, sliding across the table.

Kemp punches Josh on the shoulder. "You just carry wads of money around with you?"

Josh ignores him. "Pride, man, pride," he repeats, before they all stand up, preparing to leave for practice.

I take another two bites of cereal, my eyes glued to the money, Josh's voice reverbrating around my head. The more I look at the cash, ten twenty dollar bills folded in half, the more my heart sinks lower and lower.

Pride?

Try shame. So much fucking shame.

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_"the best you ever had_

_is just a memory and those dreams_"

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so...review?

even with the super lame ending?

:D i love you guys.


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